


Election Day

by junojelli



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8798905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junojelli/pseuds/junojelli
Summary: 'This election was supposed to be incontestable. It was his turn. He had more political experience than any of his Baratheon forefathers before him, and more than any other candidate in recent memory.'
Things are not going as planned on Election Day, and Stannis barricades himself in the bathroom.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tommyginger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommyginger/gifts).



> And pop goes the cherry! This is my first ever fic, so please be gentle with the virgin! Big love to Tommyginger for enticing me to write a Stansa fic for the first one. Constructive criticism always welcome, I have to learn!
> 
> All characters and the ASOIAF universe belong to GRRM. I'm just playing with the toys in the sandbox for a bit.
> 
> This is a Stannis/Sansa fic, so if the idea of an older man/younger woman relationship doesn't sit with you, probably leave this one out.

_Things are not going as planned_ , Stannis mused, grinding his teeth in spite of his best efforts. He had barricaded himself within the en-suite of his hotel room, trying to block out the cacophony of live news coverage blaring from the speakers mixed with the hurried phone calls of Davos. Melisandre, his campaign manager, had gone AWOL not that it surprised him.

This election was supposed to be _incontestable._ It was _his_ turn. He had more political experience than any of his Baratheon forefathers before him, and more than any other candidate in recent memory.

Yet somehow, a Dornish tabloid-loving, dissolute ex-model whose numerous sordid affairs trended weekly on Twitter had just taken the bloody _North_ from him. The North had unequivocally supported a Baratheon candidate for the last 100 years.

_Apparently no longer._

When Ellaria Sand had gained the Dornish nomination to run for president, no one had taken her seriously. Their television debates in the preceding weeks had been more akin to episodes of the ‘Bronn Blackwater Talk Show’, where the inhabitants of Fleabottom were baited by the former pro-wrestler every weekday morning. She couldn’t be a _serious_ politician. She wore velour tracksuits to meetings with Westerosi veterans. He was sure to win.

Staring at his gaunt reflection in the mirror, he dared to deliberate on why he was losing this election. Granted, Ellaria appealed to younger voters who were more familiar with her social media persona. She appealed to women. She had achieved the unthinkable – unifying the often mercurial Dornish vote. Even Stannis had to admit that the woman could be considered _attractive_. Apparently, she was the only Presidential candidate to have a top 10 weekly video on both Youtube and Redtube. Not that Stannis would ever let on his knowledge of the latter’s existence. 

Crucially, she had Petyr Baelish as her campaign manager. Stannis, wanting to make a definitive break from his brother’s disastrous last Presidential term in office had decided to publicly oust the Mockingbird from his campaign. Evidently, this had been a critical error on his part. Not that he would admit it. To anyone. Ever. For all of Melisandre’s promise, this evening was turning out to be a whitewash.

A gentle knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. _Couldn’t they just leave him alone_? He thought he had been explicit to Davos that he was not to be disturbed until he returned to the room. He needed this time to re-focus for what would turn out to be the most humiliating night of his life. Irritably, Stannis unlatched the bathroom door and yanked it open, ready to castigate whomever was disturbing him.

He was not prepared to be met by the undeniably lovely face of Sansa Stark.

When Robert had come to him and suggested that Eddard Stark’s eldest daughter should aid him in his campaign, he had scoffed. The girl that Stannis called to his mind was a naive girl of a sunny disposition, who was polite to a fault. She would be torn apart in the political bullring of Kings Landing. His ex-wife Selyse, generally considered a shrewd, hard woman by many had succumbed to the pressures of the voracious media machine that follows any political family.

He had been shocked to find out that this mere girl from his memory, was now one of the most troublingly beautiful, intelligent women that he had ever been acquainted with. With a law degree from Oldtown to boot, Sansa had proved herself invaluable during the long months of his campaign. What had painfully become apparent during these months was the effect that she seemed to have on Stannis’ usual dour mood. He had long prided himself that was not like his brothers – he was not lustful, he had a daughter, he did not chase after the newest thing to whet his appetite. He dared not admit even to himself how many times he had taken himself in hand in the early hours of the morning, thinking about his relatively benign interactions with her.

It had started when she had dropped a dossier in full view of his office, around 7 months before. Tucking her long, glorious auburn hair behind her ear ( _like fire_ , he remembered), she had bent over to collect the wayward sheets from the floor, giving Stannis an accidental view of her long glorious legs in that indecently short pencil skirt. He had been speaking with Davos and young Devan in his office at the time, and the unfamiliar tingling of blood rushing to his groin had nearly caught him off-guard.

Since then, he had been subjected to several other incidents involving Sansa and her beautiful figure. A low-cut blouse providing a glimpse of her pert cleavage; a boat-neck sweater revealing the graceful curve of her delicate neck and a hint of the top of a lace-topped stocking and suspender belt. The one that undid him the most (and was the source material for most of his _unmentionable_ 3am wanks) was the occasion when he had walked into the kitchen for a glass of chilled water in the sweltering heat of mid-July. It was there that he ran into her eating her packed lunch with her perfect rosebud lips wrapped tightly around a frozen banana, a little cream on the end of her nose. _Gods_.

 “I’m sorry to disturb you Mr Baratheon… but… Davos mentioned that you had a headache and were stressed, and I thought you might need an Advil…” Sansa politely interjected.

Lovely, beautiful Sansa always thinking of others. Always looking out for him. She stood there, wide-eyed, holding a sheet of pills in her hand, and holding a glass of water with a single slice of lemon, as she knew he preferred.

_I’ll need more than an Advil to relax, especially after today._

Sansa froze, eyes fixed on him like a deer in the headlights, still clutching the pills and water.

_…Did I say that out loud?_

Silently, Sansa scanned over her shoulder before pushing past him into the bathroom, putting her offerings down on the counter top and locking the door behind her. Before Stannis could move himself to say _something_ to her, she knelt down unbuckled his belt. Eyes fixed on his, she leant forward to pull the zipper of his suit trousers down with her teeth.

“Sansa- “, he stuttered, reaching behind him to brace his body against the counter top as the blood rushed to his groin.

Once at the bottom, she let go of the zipper.

“Please, just relax. Let me help.”

Stannis was not entirely sure that this was not just some warped dream; the past hour had been strange beyond imagination. Things like this just didn’t happen in real life, not to Stannis anyhow (and he largely dismissed most of Robert’s stories as ‘banter’).

He must have made some indication to her to continue (not that he could recall – there was no blood in his head) as she moved her delicate hand towards the now-straining fabric of his briefs and pulled the waistband to reveal his swollen cock. Placing one of her dainty hands on his thigh, she encircled him with the other and placed the tip to her lips.

Maintaining eye contact, she opened her mouth and she began to such, gradually taking more of his cock into her mouth. As indecent as it was, Stannis could not bring himself to do the right thing, to make her stop. This was Ned’s daughter, Robert’s god-daughter, it wasn’t _proper_. Her bright blue eyes had him locked on to her and he was helpless to resist.

With what little willpower remained in him, he tried to remain as silent as possible, trying to focus on gripping the counter top and not thrusting in to her mouth. It had been years since Stannis had been touched intimately by a woman, and as much as he tried, he couldn’t last long and tried to let her know he was reaching his peak. All he managed was a strangled gasp of her name as he came hard into her mouth, with Sansa kneeling obediently between his legs.

Fuzzy-brained, Stannis watched as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, _swallowed_ , and took a sip of the water she had brought in for him. This had to be a dream. _Incidents_ such as these did not happen to Stannis Baratheon.

Holding out a hand to help her stand, he tucked himself away and zipped up his trousers, looking at her sternly but with a hint of softness in his gaze. Tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, he gently brushed her neck whilst retracting his hand. How could she read him like a book? Stannis prided himself on being a man of iron will, immovable on his principles. How on earth had she cracked his armour?

“They’re double strength, so only take one every five hours” Sansa mentioned. It was almost as if the past ten minutes had not occurred, if it weren’t for her red marked knees, and slightly creased skirt that had bunched up as she had knelt down.

She checked her hair, smoothed out her skirt and quietly slipped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind herself as she re-joined the circus of his campaign team in the neighbouring rooms.

 After composing himself, he took one of the pills with the remainder of the water and wondered if he had been subject to a private campaign of Sansa’s own desire. He couldn’t figure if he would consider himself the winner or loser of that campaign. All that he knew was after tomorrow, his own campaign would disband, and he would have to find some other way to keep Sansa within his grasp.

Perhaps there was some other office he could run for?


End file.
